?The War Struck Planet? The hazy wind travels through the sooty atmosphere While the thick, ashen clouds conceal the sun?s rays Stinging, sulfuric smells dominate the scalding air Smoky as it may be, no one complains about the day The ground, still smoldering, remains cracked and parched Littered with sunken deep holes, like the moon?s cratered surface Everywhere is dappled in jet black and scorched But despite the wretched, dark scene, no one takes slight notice The water is a murky, ebony concoction of poison Greasy and bubbling, like a sea of slimy eels squirming about It is full of decay from holding debris in its liquid prison Yet no one suffers from this, or even finds out There is neither a hint of lush green, nor a flash of a fish?s iridescent scale